


Even Now

by nevercomestheday



Category: Fake News RPF
Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, POV Second Person, Sort of? - Freeform, Wifeless AU, Wistful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-21
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-05-08 03:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5481029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevercomestheday/pseuds/nevercomestheday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But it's always been Stephen. Always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Even Now

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much, Jon and Stephen, for performing together again and breaking me into a million pieces when I was JUST getting over Jon's cameo on the premiere episode of the Late Show (and that locker room scene!). It's always been this way with this ship for me- I just start to calm down, and they do something slashy again and I get pulled right back in.  
> I mean. "Jon, baby." D=
> 
> Standard RPF disclaimer:  
> These people do not belong to me and I make no assumptions, assertions, or accusations about their sexualities or actions! This is a work of fiction.
> 
> Also, I stopped for a second and thought about this- does this technically fall in the category of Late Night Host RPF as well as Fake News RPF now? Or are we all gonna keep marching on in denial and keep tagging Stewbert/any Colbert fic as Fake News RPF? I think I like the latter. I'm still in denial that Jon left TDS and in my mind, TCR still runs. For goodness sake, I still wear my friggin' WristStrong bracelet.

Some days are harder than others.

 

It was hard enough in the old days, back when he first left to do his own show. You were so proud, and with good reason. He blew your mind.

He blew everyone's mind.

The first month apart had you feeling like something was missing, like you came to work without your pants or your wallet. You could get by, but it was weird. Something important was gone.

You still saw each other. You still spent time.

It wasn't all the time anymore, but soon there were more and more reasons to show up at his studio, more and more reasons to go home together again.

"It's for work," you'd tell yourself.

"We should finish writing this at my place. The custodians want to lock up."

There was always a reason, and how could you say no to him?

 

You knew he'd have to end his show eventually, and even though it was bittersweet, you still had that same unwavering pride in him.

It did feel like a sign, though.

You were almost done yourself.

 

His off-the-prompter speech got you at your send-off. You were doing so well, you'd thought. All the correspondents, even Craig Kilborn came back, and you didn't flinch. Your lip didn't quiver, your eyes didn't well.

And then he came out.

Leave it to Stephen to catch you off-guard and go off-script. You should've known.

When you collapsed into his arms, a blubbering mess, it felt different from the thousand-and-one other times he'd held you.

This time, he was holding you together.

 

Maybe he always has, you realize now. Maybe he's always been the glue that keeps you from cracking under pressure.

You're retired now, "an old man."

He's not done yet, but you never thought he would be. You're sure he'll be working until the very end, and it makes him happy, so you wouldn't have it any other way.

 

Some days are harder than others though, without him.

Without him is too strong. It's not that you don't have him anymore, it's just that he's not always there like before.

 

You're still Jon and Stephen, you're just not quite JonandStephen.

Not in public, at least. Not most days.

Some days, though, when he finishes taping at a decent time and you're not busy, he shows up at your door with open arms, and just as you always have, you melt right into him.

 

People still ask if you miss the show, and the truth is, you don't really.

You don't miss the work, the long hours and the never-ending cycle of news and nonsense.

You miss the people, you always say, the people and the energy.

It's sort of amazing no one's realized who you're usually referring to.

It's not that you don't miss your other friends, the correspondents and writers and wonderful people that put that beast of a show together every day; you do.

But it's always been Stephen. Always.

He's the light, the warmth, the shot of adrenaline you so desperately needed so many times.

Sort of like now.

 

So you come on his show. Yeah, it's for the First Responders, but there's no denying you missed this.

The feeling of making him laugh, watching him light up as he makes you laugh, the rush of performing together- has it really been so long that you missed it this much? Or was it just always this great?

 

Your face is orange and your wig is off and he's got to go back out there in less than sixty seconds, but he pulls you behind a pillar backstage and kisses the hell out of you.

There it is.

If you thought performing gave you a rush, this is like shooting straight fire. You're almost knocked off your feet, and he knows it. He loves it.

 

You watch from backstage as he tapes his show, and this, too, is familiar, in its own strange way. You remember watching him tape the Report, how you'd slip over some days after the Daily Show wrapped to catch his performance.

He's vibrant, and you shouldn't be as surprised or awestruck as you are.

You watch the show almost every night, for heaven's sake, you've seen the man perform thousands of times over the past seventeen years, and yet, you're still blown away.

 

"You need a ride home?" he asks when the taping ends.

He knows you don't. You know you don't. But you say yes anyway, and the hand that pats your shoulder lingers just a moment more than necessary.

 

It's been so long.

 

He's got you against the wall of your bedroom, one hand is in your hair and the other is in your back pocket.

All you can think is how much you've missed this. Missed him.

 

And when he goes home, as you knew he would, you almost catch yourself asking him to stay.

"Just another hour."

"Jon, baby, it's almost 12:30. I've got work tomorrow. Not everyone can be retired."

"Come back tomorrow after work?" You're pathetic, you know you're pathetic but you don't care.

He smiles. "I'll try."

 

Some days are harder than others, sure. But you know, deep down, things haven't changed that much.

Sure, you're off the air. Sure, he's on network television. Sure, you don't work together anymore.

But when you're alone, and sometimes, when you're not, he gives you that smile. He'll wink. He'll slip a hand around your waist. He'll come around and light the fire in your heart again, and you'll get that exhilarating feeling that your walls will burn down for sure this time.

Yeah, things have changed, but the important things have not. You're still you, and he's still him, and God, do you ever love him.

You love him, and he'll always be there, trying desperately to prove he loves you more. And you'll let him, because it's fun for him.

It's just a shame he'll never win.

 


End file.
